Hope is Bright
by SoulfireInc
Summary: Five days after Watkins took him, Gil and Dani find Bright.


Anxiety ripped like claws along his chest, tightening his throat, scoring his stomach. Gil couldn't take much more of this. Every job had its bad days but few could rival this. Few could compare to this nauseating pressure crushing him further with every beat of his frantic heart. Hope was a frayed thread, worn down by acres of searched forest, by every false lead. They were running out of time.

Bright was running out of time.

It had been five days since Gil had been cut off as Bright ducked into a lead that hadn't gone his way. Five days since they realised he was gone. Four since they found Shannon's body and understood who Paul Lazar really was. Three days since Gil had bitten the bullet and gone to see Dr Martin Whitly, desperate for any scrap of help he could offer.

Two days since they tracked down the right alias. Twenty-two hours searching this godforsaken forest for any sign of Watkins' damn bunker.

The air bit into his exposed skin, his coat unequal to the challenge. They'd already covered miles of this place and found nothing.

And Bright was without his meds. For almost a _week._ Poor kid barely got by with the damn things.

The crisp scent of fresh water spiked along his nostrils. They were near the river. That meant they were close. A shout up ahead Gil recognised as JT had him running up the last ridge. Ahead of him was a flurry of activity, twirling flashlights in the looming night, people shouting, others running. JT waved to him and he jogged over.

"It's clear," he panted, dark eyes alight with a worry he refused to voice. "No one's there."

Gil nodded. "They can't have got far. Spread out – I want every inch of this place covered, you hear me?"

"You got it, boss."

JT took off to the left, Gil to the right, other agents taking up positions in between. The bunker looked like a ranger's cabin, a bit run down, nothing like as innocent as it seemed. Gil had seen the blueprints. It had four rooms of steel wall and barricaded doors. The perfect dungeon to keep someone hostage for days.

Bright had been there, alone, for _days._

Gil gave himself a shake. Later. Now he had to focus. Find Bright. He'd deal with the rest later.

"FREEZE, WATKINS!"

Gil's heart stumbled in its hurry to leap. Dani had him. He pelted around the corner, along a cliff ridge jutting out over the water, gun raised, flashlight trained on Watkins, chased up against the precipice, Bright held as shield in front of him, a gun to his temple.

All air abandoned his lungs in a packed exodus. Bright. Oh hell. He looked worse than he'd feared. Even from this distance, Gil could see him shaking, see the bleary cast of his eyes, far duller than he'd ever seen them. One hand was swollen and bruised, held tight against a wide bloodstain on his left side. A trickle of blood painted the side of his face and he sagged in Watkins' grip.

As one, Dani and Gil slowed, approaching from both sides, hemming them in.

"It's over, Watkins," Gil said carefully, his voice measured, even. Far more controlled than he felt. He wanted to _scream._ "You had a good run, but you're not getting out of this one."

Watkins laughed. "You think so, Arroyo? You think you have the upper hand, huh?" He chuckled again. "I don't think so."

"Let Bright go," Dani said, voice smooth and strong in the deepening twilight. "We'll talk."

Watkins shrugged and took a casual step back, dragging Bright with him. The gun glinted in the flashlight. Gil and Dani took a frantic step forward, eying the nearing ledge.

"Now why would I wanna do that?" Watkins said conversationally, digging the muzzle of the gun into Bright's temple. Repositioning his grip so it aimed at Bright's heart. "The kid and I've been having a real great time. Bonding. Over old memories, you know. Camping trips. Old acquaintances ..."

Gil's gut tightened. The girl in the box. He glanced to Bright, desperate for some sign his mind was moving, he was trying to get himself out of this. Their eyes met and Gil felt it as a physical blow. There was no fight left in those eyes. No determination. Just a deep, aching exhaustion and a pain Gil wasn't sure he was brave enough to understand.

"Bright," he said slowly, pouring all his conviction into his tone, his gaze. Willing him to hold on just a little longer. Watkins was talking again, goading Dani, but Gil wasn't listening. He was transfixed by that lost, helpless look in Malcolm's eyes. For the first time in his life he truly looked broken. Deeply. Irrevocably.

Bright was nodding, so slight it could've been a shiver, his eyes never leaving Gil's. Something hardened inside them. Hope flared, bright and fleeting and for a moment he didn't know to cherish, Gil thought the kid was alright, was going to talk his way out of this, pull some profiler trick out of his hat.

It took him too long to understand that wasn't the kid's plan.

"Gil," he whispered, so faint he barely heard it over the low shushing of the river. Gil tightened his grip on his gun as Bright mouthed the worst plea.

"Shoot me."

Gil shook his head, blinking hard, mind racing. Dani stepped forward, gun still raised, aimed at Watkins – at Bright. There was no clear shot. You couldn't get one without the other.

"Gil!" Bright yelled over Watkins' gruff laugh, eyes wide and wild. "Shoot me! _Shoot me!"_

"I don't think so, Malcolm," Watkins cooed. "I told you how this ends."

It happened too quickly. Watkins smiled and leant backwards. The gun went off, the flare sharp and decisive. Before his heart understood what was happening, Gil Arroyo watched the only son he'd ever known be pulled back, man and murderer disappearing over the ledge and down into the ice-glazed river.

oOo

Relief was a wave that washed away all pain. All thought. Everything quieted. Air trilled by in a gentle _whoosh,_ as the stars peeking high above watched him fall.

Malcolm didn't feel the merciless throb in his broken hand, didn't register the acute sting of the stab wound on his side. Even the fresh, hot blood surging at his shoulder felt detached. Irrelevant. Everything was still, as he sailed downwards, a murder's hands on his chest, his shoulders. Forcing him down faster, using him to break the fall.

He was going to die.

Malcolm Bright hit the ice with bone-jarring force and slipped under the black water without breath or hope of ever seeing those stars again.

If he'd had time, he would have smiled.

oOo

Night had fallen like a shroud of mourning. Every minute that passed, Bright's chances dwindled lower and lower. And it was getting too dark to see.

Dani raced along the bank, her boots biting into her feet but she barely noticed. Her eyes were fixed on the steady, calm flow of the river. The sheets of ice throwing back her flashlight. Timbered trees and rising rocks bordered the water, but there was no sign of life.

They were too late. Bright was lost.

She gave her head a tight shake, banishing the thought. She wasn't about to give up. Not when there was a still a chance, however slight. Bright beat all the odds, anyway, what was one more?

That damn idiot. Shoot me. What a – how could he – as though they'd worked their asses off for _days_ to win back a corpse? As though getting him back alive wasn't their first priority, no matter what the brass said about bigger pictures and acceptable losses. Trust Bright to count himself last. To accept his death as the bottom line.

_Shoot me._

Why did she regret not pulling the trigger? Watkins, he could get away. He knew these woods, he was strong enough to fight the current. Bright, though ...

No. She wasn't giving up. Not until everything told her she had to and she had nothing left to fight with.

She clambered over a clutch of river-smooth boulders and leaped clumsily back to the ground. JT was covering the other bank with Swanson. Gil was on her side, a few minutes behind, in case she missed anything.

Her light soared from side to side like a personal lighthouse. It landed on a tree, stripped of bark lying across half the river, its branches reaching out in all directions in a futile attempt to stop its fall. Draped at its end was a skinny man with dark hair.

"Bright!" She crashed into the water without thinking about how cold it was. It punched the air out of her and she ignored it, calling back for Gil and the others. The water lapped to her waist as she approached him, teeth chattering as the cold seeped through her.

Bright was caught in the delicate fingers at the branch's end, one arm wedged over another bough that ducked into the water, the elevation just enough to keep his lolling head clear.

It was pure luck that kept him from the tangled maze lurking below the water. Pure, dumb luck he could breath.

Except he wasn't.

"Bright?" Dani gasped, jaw juttering with cold. "Br-Bright, hold on. Hold on."

She curled her arms under his and heaved. He rose a few inches and stopped, caught on something. Dani heaved again and he came free, the water helping her with his weight.

"Hold on, Bright. Hold on for me. It's okay. I got you."

"Dani!" Gil's voice was a balm in the night.

"Over here!" she shouted back, voice limping with the shock of the icy water. "I f-found him!"

Gil tore out of the forest looking paler than Dani had seen him since Jackie died. He crashed into the water and grabbed Bright, helping her haul him onto the bank.

"Bright?" They rolled him onto his back, kneeling on either side. "Bright?"

He wasn't breathing. His shirt was ruined, ripped open to reveal a narrow chest as deathly pale as the wan face. His ribs were far too prominent, dark bruising mottling the skin while red, puckered skin surrounded a narrow, deep cut at his side. Fresh blood, so stark against his marble skin it looked black, oozed sluggishly from the bullet wound on his shoulder.

Without a word, Gil started compressions. Dani stooped and blew two sharp breaths past Bright's lips. Nothing happened.

Compressions.

Breaths.

Nothing.

"Come on, kid," Gil pleaded, voice cracking and more fragile than Dani had ever heard it. She looked to him, how drawn he looked. The desperation in his eyes. "Come on, Malcolm. Don't do this to me, kid."

He beat into Bright's chest again, harder this time.

A tiny fountain erupted from Bright's mouth and he jerked.

"Yes! Yes, that's it, that's it. Breathe, Bright. Breathe."

Bright convulsed weakly, more water pouring free as they rolled him on his side. His eyes opened slightly, bleary and unaware. He was pale as the ice floating by on the river.

Gil pulled Bright into a sitting position, slumped against his chest.

"We gotta warm him up," he babbled, shrugging out of his coat. Dani held Bright while Gil worked the fabric around his narrow shoulders, then lay him gently along the lieutenant's chest and pulled off her own jacket to drape over Bright's exposed chest. His shirt hung off him like it'd lost the will to live.

"Hold on, Bright," Gil murmured, rubbing his chest frantically while Dani took his back, his bleeding shoulder tight against Gil. "Help's coming. We got you. Just hold on, kid."

Dani looked back to the forest. She could hear the others coming. There was an ambulance on sight, it'd be with them in minutes. She turned back to Bright. He was staring vacantly, all trace of the dopey weirdo gone. Dani rubbed his arm a little harder.

"Hang in there, Malcolm. It's gonna be okay."

His brows twitched into an exhausted frown. His jaw worked, eyes blinking slowly as he fought to stay conscious. He mumbled something, barely more than a breath, and Dani leaned closer.

"What's he saying?"

She gulped.

"'Jennifer Hopkins'," she repeated, feeling something icy that had nothing to do with winter slide down her chest. "'Her name was Jennifer Hopkins.'"

"Oh, god." Gil pulled Bright closer against him, tucking his head under his chin and holding him like he was hope itself. "I'm sorry, Malcolm. I'm so damn sorry."

Dani could barely swallow past the lump in her throat. Her eyes burned. Gil wasn't meant to sound that scared. That wounded. Abandoning her restraint, Dani scooted forward and wrapped her arms around the two men, sandwiching Bright in between her chest and Gil's, half to stop him freezing to death, half because she needed to feel him breathing against her. Mostly because the thought of not holding them was more than she could handle.

Bright shivered viciously between them, brow pinched over closed, roaming eyes. His breathing was machinegun fire, sharp and jagged as broken glass. Whatever he'd been through, however bad he was hurt, he had a chance now. No matter how badly he'd been broken, they could help put him back together. He had hope. He was _alive_. He was back where he belonged.

With his family.


End file.
